Pumpkin
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: A series of seven ficlets/drabbles all based around pumpkins. Updated daily until my birthday. Various genres, but all with friendshippy goodness.
1. Pie

"You…bake?" Neal said, one hand over his mouth as he tried to hold in his laughter.

Peter glared and continued rolling out the pie dough. "Shut up."

A nearly stifled snicker escaped the conman's lips. "_You_ bake?"

The glare intensified. "I said, shut up."

"In what universe does it make sense that _you_ can bake?" Neal said, a loud laugh filling the air. Peter scowled.

"What part of _shut up_ don't you get?" He mumbled angrily. "And I could say the same for you."

There was a moment of silence as Neal pulled the very tomato bisque from the fridge mentioned. "That's different!" Neal defended.

"In what way?" Peter said with a smirk, sticking the pie in the oven.

"It- I-"

"It really isn't different." Elizabeth said. "Now can we go?"

Begrudgingly, Neal followed with Peter close behind, the subject of pumpkin pie forgotten.


	2. Patch

Neal beamed as he sprinted out of the car while it was still parking, shutting the door in his wake. Elizabeth chuckled.

"You'd think he's never been to a pumpkin patch." She muttered, looking to her husband. Peter shrugged.

"Probably hasn't in a while." He paused, looking as Neal waited impatiently at the gate. "We should go." The words were pointed as he eyed his partner, on eyebrow quirked slightly.

El laughed again, getting out of the car a bit more quickly that really necessary. "Before he ends up using that nervous energy for evil." She agreed jokingly. Peter was already gone, sprinting off after the consultant/conman as he walked in, shouting something that sounded almost like "wait up!". Elizabeth laughed again, walking to the gate.

"Boys will be boys," she muttered, following two of the most important people in her life as they raced (though that might have just been her mind playing tricks on her) to the pumpkin patch.

Neal sprinted backwards, smirking at Peter. "You're slower than my mother!" He called teasingly. Peter scoffed, increasing his speed and nearly catching up. _Nearly_ being the key word in that sentence.

"Caffrey for the win!" El shouted, finally catching up. Much to Peter's disbelief, Neal won their unofficial race. Neal grinned smugly.

"Knew I'd win." Peter glared mildly, though was clearly trying to hide a smile.

"Shut up and find your pumpkin." He muttered, already walking off.

By the end of the day Peter and Elizabeth had gather five pumpkins, all loaded up in the car. There was still no Neal in sight. Peter sighed, sinking deeper into his seat as he watched the sun set. The various oranges and pinks were perfect, all things considered. The crisp fall air flitted in through the open door on El's side.

Just as Peter was about to ask where Neal was, the con came up, grinning as he lugged a wagon behind him. The pumpkin inside was almost as big at Statchmo when he was curled up on the floor, and probably heavier by the looks of it.

Peter immediately stepped out of the car, helping his friend get the car up to the car and into the car. "Where did you find that thing?" He grunted mid-lift. Neal shrugged, the massive pumpkin slipping from his grip slightly.

"Went way out to the back. It's this trick I learned when-" He paused, setting the orange monster into the trunk. "-I was a kid." He slammed the trunk shut, getting into the back seat before Peter could say anything. Peter nodded, one eyebrow raised, as he got in shotgun.

"So, the huge ones are always at the back?" El asked as she pulled out, having heard the whole conversation (all three sentences).

Neal shrugged again. "Yeah. No one goes back there because that's where most of the rotten ones are, but some are huge." He snickered. "There was this one, I think I was seven. My mom brought me here. I swear the pumpkin we found was taller than I was!" He laughed, and Peter tried not to betray his shock. Neal never talked about anything pre-Chase. Ever.

"Must have been pretty tall." El supplied, seeing that Peter wouldn't be speaking up any time soon.

"You have no idea." Neal snickered quietly. "And hey, now Peter can make more of that pumpkin pie!"

Peter just growled and turned on the radio.


	3. Guts

There were a lot of things Neal has always loved about Halloween. The dressing up and pretending to be something your not (once he really became a conman he liked it a little less, because that's basically what his job entailed), the decorations, but mostly he liked carving pumpkins.

Well, maybe not the carving. More like scooping out the guts with your bare hands. Not to say the carving wasn't fun! It just wasn't as fun.

So when El offered for him to help prepare the pumpkins for when Sam was coming over for carving, he jumped at the chance.

Of course, they started with the one he found.

When he walked into the house the first thing he saw was the pumpkin. The top had already been cut off and was currently on the newspapered kitchen table, and there were spatulas and spoons and a knife all laid out. The second thing was that the wall was covered in plastic, and so was the floor.

El came in, wearing jeans and a white apron with orange splatters all along the front. Neal guessed it wasn't the first year she had set to carving a bigger-than-average pumpkin.

Still, he didn't get the need for the plastic on the wall.

El stared at him, a puzzled look crossing her face before she followed his gaze. "Curious?" She questioned.

Neal just nodded and walked out to the pumpkin.

"It's a Burke family tradition," she explained, taking a handful of pumpkin guts. "Just throw it."

And with that, she chucked the gooey orange mass in her hand at the wall, smiling as it slid down.

"Wanna try?"


	4. Carving

Samantha was grinning, staring at the pumpkin before her in childlike glee.

So was Neal, but we'll get to that later.

"Any idea what your carving?" El asked. June, unfortunately, couldn't be there, Mozzie was missing (he'd promised, but he never did specify a time) and Neal was hiding in the kitchen. So, really, there was only the need for three pumpkins out. That didn't seem to damper Sam's mood at all.

"Not a one!" She said cheerfully, and grabbed a marker off the coffee table.

Peter and Elizabeth looked at each other. Peter cocked one eyebrow, and El merely nodded in return. No one would ever be completely sure what that mental conversation had boiled down to. Still, Peter got up from his spot on the couch, walking in the direction of the kitchen.

Neal immediately popped in the doorway, his white t-shirt splattered in orange and a huge smile on his face. He was also blocking whatever view there may have been of the pumpkin.

"Yes?" The ex-con questioned, shifting to the left as Peter tried to see around him.

"Just wondering how long you planned on being holed up. I think the little guy is outside, but he won't come in unless he sees you in the window." He raised an eyebrow as Neal continued to block the pumpkin.

"Just put a note on the door that says set, all caps. That should work." Neal's smile got wider as Peter, slowly, walked off. The pumpkin awaited him.

When Peter walked back in the front room and stayed there (because he had just walked through the first time), he had a piece of paper in one hand and tape in another. El raised an eyebrow as her husband put it on the door.

"For Moz," and that was all the explanation she got. Almost as soon as the phrase was uttered, there was a knock on the door. Peter smiled smugly, opening the door for -who else?- Mozzie. The shorter man handed him back the paper.

"Neal told you?" He questioned. Peter nodded and shut the door.

Half an hour later, two pumpkins were carved, one was getting started and Neal still hadn't come out of hiding. Peter, who was getting mildly annoyed at the fact that there hadn't been a direct word from the consultant (he had a great singing voice, though) since Mozzie arrived. So he went into the kitchen, fully prepared to drag his friend out.

"…_Strawberry avalanche, crash over me._" Peter cocked his head to one side, raising an eyebrow the MP3 player at Neal's side. The younger man was crouched down on the floor, carefully carving out the pumpkin. It was incredibly detailed, though Peter couldn't tell what it was since Neal was blocking a good portion or it.

Peter, head still cocked slightly, tapped the con on the shoulder, making him jump, ear buds ripped out.

"Peter!" Neal exclaimed, surprised.

The eyebrow went higher. "I was wondering when you would come out of hiding."

A quiet sigh filled the silent air. "I'm almost done, okay? Just give me a minute." He pouted slightly. With all the experience Peter had reading looks, he could tell this one said "now please go" in the most childish way possible. The FBI agent nodded, leaving Neal to his pumpkin.

Another twenty minutes. The only pumpkin un-carved was June's, who still hadn't shown. Oh, and Neal was still hiding in the kitchen.

Until he popped his head into the room. "Can someone help me? This thing is still kind of heavy."

So Peter went in and helped him roll the giant pumpkin to the front porch. No one saw the carving while it was being moved.

Once it was stationary though…

It was complex. It was detailed.

It was their house.

Peter blinked, staring at the pumpkin in shock as Neal went in for, presumably, candles.

Of all the things he could have carved out of the giant pumpkin, Neal chose the Burke's place of residence.

It was kind of… sweet, really.

Neal came back out, several candles and a bow of matches in hand. "What? Don't like it?" He said, noting the agent's blank look. "I mean, it's kind of hard to do something justice from a pumpkin carving, but still…"

Peter blinked again, snapping out of his reverie. "No, no. Neal, this is," he paused. "A-amazing. One question though." Neal cocked his head to one side, setting the candles aside.

"What?"

"Why our house?"

The con shrugged.

"It was suppose to be home."


	5. Ale

Neal was tipsy,

So was Mozzie, but his tipsy was just slightly less paranoid than usual.

So, yeah. Neal was tipsy.

And cooking.

This wouldn't end well, Peter could feel it.

Okay, so it just pumpkin seeds. All he needed to do was put them in the oven and take them out later. But when Neal was tipsy, he was forgetful. Forgetful and the kitchen didn't usually mix well.

No one says anything when they hear Neal yelp in the kitchen. However, El does grab the first-aid kit.

All Neal says as El helps with the second degree burn is, "Stupid, delicious pumpkin ale."


	6. Lantern

Neal was bored. No surprises there, considering he was on a stakeout with Peter, but still.

He was bored.

Folding various origami objects lost its entertainment after a while, especially when one was running on very little sleep.

Actually, when Neal really thought bout it (_Why is that getting harder to do, anyway?_) he hadn't had a really good night's sleep in weeks, and the past few days had just been… To put it simply, he hadn't gotten more than two hours of sleep a night in over a week. All he wanted to do right then was collapse into his own bed and sleep for the rest of the weekend.

Unfortunately, the stakeout was preventing that. Neal knew his eyes were drooping, and he was shaking because of his low blood sugar (because when Neal couldn't sleep, as a general rule he couldn't eat much either, which made for miserable bouts of insomnia.), and Peter was getting suspicious. The problem was, at this point, Neal was too tired to care about hiding symptoms.

Peter tapped him lightly on the shoulder, rousing the younger man from his sleepy haze. "It's three am, Neal." He said, offering a hand. "We can go."

Neal gratefully took the hand, allowing Peter to help him up and out of the van. For once, Neal didn't protest or try and give any illusion of being "fine", which probably only worried Peter more.

"Can you let go?" Neal asked, flashing his conman grin to the best of his ability. "I can walk." Peter, albeit reluctantly, let go, keeping close behind as his partner walked to the Taurus.

There were two things Neal saw before he blacked out: one, being Peter's concerned face, and two, the oddly pumpkin shaped lantern hanging behind him.


	7. Spice

Neal breathed deeply as he slumped on the couch, eyes closed.

The candle flickered.

The familiar smell of pumpkin spice had filled the room, and Neal closed his eyes. It was being like when he was little, when his mom would light the Yankee candles the day before Halloween and play Beethoven's Fifth on the piano. Those were some of his best memories - the pre-nine years. Before dear ol' dad died and mom remarried.

He'd almost forgotten, really. It was nice.

And as the house suddenly burst back into life, he couldn't help but think he was home again.


End file.
